


Waiting for a Better Time

by elirwen



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:53:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28144167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elirwen/pseuds/elirwen
Summary: Sometimes plans fail and destiny takes over.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 229
Collections: Merlin Holidays 2020





	Waiting for a Better Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fifty_fifty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fifty_fifty/gifts).



> Dear fifty_fifty, as it often happens, the story took on a life of its own and I didn't manage to use the prompt as fully as I thought I would, but I hope you'll enjoy my humble offering regardless. Happy holidays!

This is not how it was supposed to go.

Sharp stabs of pain alternate with dull neverending ache. It takes more and more energy to conceal his suffering, to resist the temptation to check on the hastily made bandage holding the tip of the crossbow bolt in place. He hopes it’s not digging deeper in. He hopes he’s not killing himself.

“Why would he help me?” Arthur speaks after long minutes of trudging through the forest in complete silence. “I never gave him any reason to save me.”

“I don’t know,” Merlin says, breathless, hoping Arthur will just think it’s caused by their fast pace.

“He fought them all off, even while injured,” Arthur says. “He saved my life and paid for it with his own health.”

He wasn’t careful enough. He wasn’t quick enough. He failed to raise a shield. Arthur wasn’t supposed to be near the fight. He wasn’t supposed to see him get hurt in his Dragoon disguise.

“I’m sure he’ll be able to heal himself just fine,” Merlin lies, wishing it were true.

“Yes, because you’re an expert on sorcery,” Arthur snorts.

Merlin can’t even laugh at the irony, chills and nausea wracking his body. He’s grateful that Arthur doesn’t turn to look at him, fully concentrating on getting out of the forest and finding the rest of their party, whichever happens first.

***

He can’t go on. Black spots swim in his vision. He lags behind Arthur, his legs refusing to move faster, the distance between them growing. It’s becoming difficult to walk straight. It’s becoming difficult to think straight. He stumbles to the nearest tree, crashing into it with his full weight. He can’t stop the gasp of pain from leaving his lips, even though it was his uninjured side that collided against the trunk.

“Are you alright?” Arthur calls out, finally noticing that Merlin is no longer behind him.

He jogs back towards Merlin who doesn’t have it in him to even answer the question.

Just a moment. He needs just a moment to get his bearing. And then he’ll be able to soldier on. More black spots swirl in his field of vision in direct contradiction to his inner pep talk.

“Merlin, what’s wrong?” Arthur asks, worried, looking Merlin up and down.

“Fine. I’m fine,” Merlin says, but it doesn’t sound convincing at all. “Just need a moment,” he insists anyway.

“There’s no time for you to be a martyr,” Arthur says, crowding into Merlin’s space and attempting to lend him his strength to stay upright.

Except he presses his side right against the bandage-covered crossbow bolt.

Merlin cries out in pain and flinches back. His vision goes blurry, his knees go weak. He scrambles against the bark of the tree, against Arthur’s chainmail to keep himself upright, but he can’t hold on.

Arthur wraps his arm around his waist on reflex to stop him from falling to the ground, but that only makes him press against the bolt once more. Another hoarse cry tears itself from Merlin’s throat. He resists the rapidly approaching faint for a few short moments, hearing his name be called as if from a big distance, but soon he succumbs to the unconsciousness.

***

Hmmm… Unicorns feeding on lush grass… What a lovely summer breeze… It’s so nice when there are no chores to do, no responsibilities… Just floaty comfortable freedom…

Though… It’s a bit weird… As if something isn’t right…

The dreamscape fades away as he blinks his eyes open, looking up at the canopy of trees. Definitely not summer green, the branches free of leaves. It’s hard to think clearly, everything so strangely muted. He smiles when Arthur leans over him, but his smile falls when he sees Arthur’s expression.

Memories drift back one by one together with the ache pulsing in his right side. The fight. His hasty retreat once Arthur was safe. Snapping the crossbow bolt with his magic. Tearing strips of fabric from Dragoon’s robe. Looking for Arthur. Seeing the relief on Arthur’s face when he popped into view.

There’s no relief now. Instead he sees concern. Concern and something else. Uncertainty? Wariness?

“How long was I out?” he asks, lifting his hand to his side.

“Not long,” Arthur says, batting his hand away. “I checked the wound and re-tied the bandages.”

He doesn’t meet Merlin’s eyes anymore.

“Arthur…”

“We need to get you back to Camelot,” Arthur interrupts him. “You’ve already lost too much blood.”

“I didn’t want to…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Arthur stops him once again. “I’ll help you up now.”

Merlin takes a breath, his lips part. He’s trying to think of something to say, but what can he say?

“Alright,” he ends up saying, like a coward.

***

It’s becoming too much. Even with Arthur’s support, putting one foot in front of the other turns into gargantuan effort. Breathing hard and fast, there still doesn’t seem to be enough air in his lungs. Dizziness and nausea never stop.

He trips over a fallen branch, a twig really, and he'd go down if it wasn't for Arthur’s steady grip.

“I can’t…” Merlin gasps.

“Yes, you can,” Arthur says, not letting go.

Merlin shakes his head.

He’s absolutely spent. He has nothing left. His head falls forward. His eyes slide shut. His mind is blank yet filled with constant buzz.

He’s being dragged somewhere, propped against something, embraced, lifted. His face is pressed against cold metal, his right arm dangling in the air.

He loses track of time, all that exists is the rhythmic rocking of his body and the sound of harsh breaths that overpowers the buzz.

***

“That’s it,” is the first thing he hears. “But I’m going to need more than that.”

Something cold and wet assaults his face. He tries to jerk away. More cold and wet all over his face.

“Come on, wake up,” he hears Arthur mutter before the cold and wet sensation moves down his neck.

Shiver runs through his limbs. He forces his eyes open.

“Will you stay awake this time?” Arthur asks.

Merlin stares at him, uncomprehending. He doesn’t remember any other time.

“I guess it’s pointless to ask,” Arthur says with a sigh. “Why would you tell me that the sorcerer would be able to heal himself when you’re obviously not?”

Merlin stares some more.

“Or can you heal yourself? Were you waiting for a better time?”

Merlin’s mouth is dry. Still he attempts to speak.

“I…” he starts, but it’s not even a whisper.

“Because I don’t think there’s going to be a better time,” Arthur continues, and Merlin’s awareness finally reaches the level of comprehension high enough to notice the panicky notes of Arthur’s speech. “If you can do something to help yourself, do it. Now.” His eyes are startlingly blue, sparkling with beginnings of tears. “Please. Anything.”

Anything.

Anything...

There’s only one thing he can do to save himself now. He closes his eyes, reaches deep inside himself to drag the power to the surface.

“Stay with me,” he hears Arthur say, feels Arthur’s calloused hands caressing his face in a surprisingly gentle gesture.

He forces the summons out of his throat, each word a struggle, his whole body tense from the effort.

Arthur calls his name, alarmed, his palms pressing against Merlin’s shoulders, then down his body when Merlin finishes chanting, his body sinking to the ground out of exhaustion.

“What did you do? Did you..? Are you..?” Arthur stammers, pushing Merlin’s tunic up and poking around the bandaged wound, making Merlin hiss in pain. “You’re not healed. It’s still there.” He leans over Merlin, frantic. “What was it? What did you do?”

“Help...” Merlin trails off, out of breath.

“I don’t know how?” Arthur misunderstands, leaning closer, as if hoping that his mere presence can shield Merlin from further suffering.

“Help will come,” Merlin manages to say.

“What? Who?”

“Friend,” Merlin breathes out, clinging to last bits of consciousness. “Don’t… fight him.”

“Why would I..? What sort of a friend?” Arthur asks, bewildered, but his voice barely registers.

Everything fades away once more.

***

Warmth.

It seeps into his bones. It caresses his skin. He cuddles closer to its source, sighing contentedly.

The warmth shifts, jostles him, breaks his tranquility. He blinks his eyes open.

“A dragon? Really?” Arthur asks, clearly aware of Merlin’s wakefulness. “And it talks and has a name and clearly isn’t dead like you told me!” His voice raises in pitch as the sentence goes.

“Not an it, young Pendragon,” Kilgharah voices his displeasure, but Merlin knows him well enough to hear the hint of amusement, so he offers him a tired smile.

Arthur doesn’t know him though. He tightens his hold on Merlin, which in turn makes Merlin fully aware of being sat in Arthur’s lap, cradled to his chest like a little kid.

“Thank you,” Merlin says to break the tension. “I wasn’t sure you’d answer my call.”

“As long as I live I will always come to your aid, young warlock,” Kilgharah says.

Merlin expects Arthur to tense at the manner of address, but he doesn’t. He glances up at Arthur’s face, finds him looking back. Warmth, wonder, curiosity, familiar calm, and… heat? All that he finds in Arthur’s gaze. Maybe not like a little kid then.

But there will be time to explore that later. After the fresh revelations settle, questions get answered, truths get fully revealed.

If the dragon ever finishes his speech about prophecies and sides of a coin.


End file.
